The Rise of Optimus Prime: Orion Pax
by RenegadeDungeonMaster1996
Summary: From the fires of Simanzi, a soldier will rise through our ranks.
1. Chapter One: Groundfall

Chapter 1: Groundfall

"Once we hit 500 feet, you're going to be dropped. Your pre-programmed training will kick in at 250 feet, and once you make groundfall, you'll be straight into the action. Any questions? Heh, sorry, forgot, you don't know how to speak."

TX-13 942 stared at the silver being in front of him, the base instincts inside him barely flickering as he received his instructions. Something…. something was wrong, he thought, struggling to comprehend all the symbols flashing in front of his optics. His thoughts were cut off by the shearing of metal, alarms blaring around the hangar, the thousands of identical machines coloured red by the massive crimson lights illuminating the space. The mech in front of him, the…the captain, he decided, though he was still unsure what that word signified, looked utterly terrified, his humorous composure lost as the hangar started to shudder, hidden forces blasting at the sides. Staring back at TX-13, his face settled into a mask of grim certainty. Slamming a fist against the red badge on his chest, he nodded to a hulking green mech: "Let them drop, we're at six hundred feet already, they'll survive the impact."

The other robot nodded, whatever expression he had lost behind the impressive faceplate covering the pertinent features, pulling a large lever illuminated with gold lights. The ground beneath TX-13 opened, revealing a blazing inferno far beneath them, streaks of light flashing through the air, tearing through angular jets and sending them spiralling to the ground below, smoke belching from their internals. The steel claws holding TX-13 in place snapped open, and for a split second, he was weightless, floating in the hangar…until he fell, the inexorable pull of gravity ripping him from the quiet cold of the hangar into the roaring inferno of the planet. The rush of wind past his chassis was almost deafening, his mind still blank, missing key information he needed to make sense of everything around him. In front of his vision, a counter appeared, counting down numbers: 550 feet, 500 feet…350….300… As the numbers turned to 250, a searing pain shot through his head, thunderous detonations blasting his fellow drop-troopers out of the sky. However, he had his orders, and that's all an Autotrooper needs. Operating on instinct, datafeeds flashing through his HUD (Heads Up Display) updating the condition of his body, he activated the jets installed into his legs and arms, using their single charge to rotate his body into a proper landing position. As the ground loomed beneath him, he drew his mag-rifle, slamming into the ground, causing slight damage to his legs but nothing that would result in operational failure. Around him, other troopers were making their landings, some of them succeeding in making successful landings while the others, well, they were not so lucky.

"Report." TX-13 barked over his comms channel, sending a rank pulse through the communique. The mechs surrounding him sent back operational confirmation reports. Two hundred troops in his radius out of twenty thousand…wait, what the slag? We're down to two hundred? He thought, just as enemy units burst out of hiding, their black, angular forms bearing sleek rifles, sending blasts of purple energy at the massed Autotroopers, ripping through the ranks. TX-13 rolled out of the firing range, his arms moving of their own accord as he brought his mag-rifle to bear, pulling the trigger and sending a barrage of rounds at the nearest Decepticon, his HUD identifying it as a "Scout-Class". Whatever a Scout-Class was wasn't exactly well armoured, he pondered as the enemy mech's chest was torn open, killing it in kliks, another taking its place before Pax could even blink. Around him, mechs were dropping like flies on both sides, however, the Autotroopers were faring far worse than the Decepticons, the massed enemy troops easily surrounding them, forcing the men onto the defensive. TX-13 moved back to back with two other 'bots, a hulking Gunner-class with a massive cannon mounted on his right arm and an equally massive Duellist armed with a hammer and shield, the three of them relentlessly firing at the enemy forces

"There's a slaggin' lot of these pit heads, eh?" the larger mech chuckled, his voice deep and raspy, his heavy cannon tearing holes through the swarming mass of Decepticon scouts, the Autobrand on his left arm an almost angry shade of red, his massive shoulders shuddering with the recoil of his cannon. TX-13 laughed sourly in return, a low-ammunition alert flashing in the side of his HUD. He doubted he'd survive the loss of his rifle, seeing as the "pre-programmed training" seemed to omit the principles behind reloading it. The other mech, the Duellist, was silent as his hammer crushed the heads of enemy units who moved too close to his compatriots. He was the largest out of the three, his heavier armour and massive gauntlets giving him an almost overpowering sense of strength and durability, though to be fair, he was roughly identical to all the other mechs of his type on the field, who had done exactly what TX-13 and his new allies had done: banded into groups of three, two firing and one covering. Well, they _had,_ but that was largely moot, since most of them were being slaughtered by the enemy forces, the stench of burning metal and leaked Energon overpowering TX-13. He tried to stop firing, to try and pick a different target than the scouts, trying to aim at the heavier units massacring his allies. His hands moved to take aim, firing at…the scouts. He kept trying to swap targets, but his body rebelled against his orders. He sent out an alert flash to the survivors, trying to tell them that their programming was actively working against their best efforts to improvise in the field. Again, his body betrayed him, sending a fire at will message to his fellow soldiers, his HUD sending error messages every time he tried to do something, _anything_ that would be a more effective course of action. The programming resisted his every effort, sending him into pre-programmed movement routines that nearly got him killed every time he used them.

"I've got six rounds left! I'm going to switch over to handgun in five kliks, understood?" TX-13 barked to the gunner and the duellist, his own voice surprising him, since he had only ever used it once. It was a deep, gravelly voice, one that sounded older than it should. He liked it, he thought as he emptied his clip into a Vehicon head, slamming the bayonet of his rifle into the face of another, the rifle buckling under the pressure but killing the scum. His holster popped open, whipping out the pistol he fired two rounds into the nearest 'con, the orange plasma tearing a smoking hole in the glitchhead's slagging interiors. The pistol clicked, the weapon jammed just as an enemy tank aimed his own plasma weapon at TX-13 and his merry band


	2. Chapter Two: Skyfall

Chapter 2: Skyfall

TX-13 shut down his optics, not wanting to see his death burn his slagging face away. He just got this damn body and he'd be slagged if some jumped up psychopath trashed it within nine cycles and fifty-nine kliks of his birth. As his last thoughts rushed through his brain, he felt a strange lightness in his internals, the backed-up error messages in his HUD disappearing as he felt the programming constraints lessening and something called "alternate_ " running in his OS. His whole body twisted and warped, changing into some kind of heavy assault vehicle. The plasma shot sizzled overhead, dissipating several meters away. TX-13's body shifted again, launching him forward, the change leapfrogging him towards the tank, a combat knife flicking out of a compartment on his wrist. His heavy body slammed into the enemy with a sickening crunch as the armour plating on both cracked under the pressure, the knife flashing through the air and cutting a fuel line, TX-13 ignoring the damage alerts flooding his system, the spray of hot Energon across his face darkly gratifying. He flipped off the dead tank, rotating around to see his companions in similar situations, the gunner having turned into a portable artillery emplacement, his cannon having torn a hole in the enemy forces, the duellist having moved with a speed and grace that belied his size, several enemy troops lying crushed around him. TX-13 charged over to them, oddly relieved that these mechs who he had only met minutes ago were still functional. Something about them seemed oddly familiar, like he'd known them before, but that was patently ridiculous, since, as stated before, he had only been born minutes ago. He noticed a flashing light in his HUD, a red and black stylised jet blinking on and off…. the airstrike warning.

"HIT THE DECK!" he bellowed at them, trying to find cover as the enemy jets screamed overhead, letting loose a maelstrom of missiles, each one detonating with a purple blast of a strange liquid, raining down on the soldiers below. "What the pit are they planning with that, to give us a nice wash after a battle?" mused the gunner as he resumed robot mode, his weapon clearly overheated. TX-13 looked around, his optics widening as the second set of jets soared through, setting off a series of smaller, traditional missiles, each one heading towards the masses of purple liquid. It's…it's an environmental detonation, he realised, switching to alt mode, the heavy red form comforting. "We have to fall back! We need to locate a- "

He was cut off by the thunderous detonation of the missiles on the liquid, the explosion shattering the ground beneath them, sending the three plummeting again, falling into the blackness below. The fall was brief in comparison to the airdrop, but it was still rather painful slamming into stone underground.

"Gah…that was unpleasant. Remind me never to travel by airstrike." The sardonic rasp of the gunner echoed through the cavern, oddly cheerful despite the biting sarcasm in his words. "Are you all functional, chaps?"

"Yes. I am functioning at forty percent of my normal potential. TM-13 952 is my serial number in case my corpse requires identification." The duellist finally spoke. His voice was quiet, deep and oddly calming. He sounded deeply professional, his words clipped and well enunciated. TX-13 nodded at the identification, adding it as a tag in his HUD

"TX-13 942 is my serial number. Looks like we're stranded in here, can anyone get a comms link to Command?" His own gravelly voice sounded more confident than he felt, his systems flaring up with multiple damage reports and alerts. He had apparently disabled his targeting computer, loosened his T-Cog and his legs were at ten percent structural integrity. Any more falls like that, and he would end up crippled.

"TG-13 962 is my serial number, chaps. And no, I can barely even communicate with you lot, let alone send a signal out of here. I guess we're stranded for now, unless one of you has working comms gear." TG-13 sighed. He seemed to be moving into some kind of depressive state now than the reality of their situation was sinking in. TX-13 doubted that they would be able to survive much longer, since their Energon levels were depleted. Rather unlikely they'd find a replacement source in here, especially since most of their deceased comrades were destroyed in the blast. He rose shakily to his feet, turning on his infrared scanner. Anything better than that would drain more power than could be spared, energy conservation being paramount in his mind, at least until they could find a viable source. TM-13 stood as well, falling in behind TX-13

"Where to, sir?" He said quietly. The other two soldiers spun to look at him, looks of disbelief on their faces at the bot's words

"What do you mean, 'sir'?" They said at the same time, disbelief writ large over their faces, TX-13 somehow managing to make his emotions clear behind his faceplate. What in the pit did he hit his head on when he fell, TX-13 thought, staring incredulously at the 'bot

"Uh, sir, you are the ranking officer here. It's in our orders. I read them as we fell. You're the sergeant here, sir." His quiet voice somehow seemed louder than the cannons above them, TX-13 stumbling back as he reviewed his orders, confirming that he was, indeed, Sergeant TX-13 of the 45600th Autobot Ground Marines.

"Oh…. _slag._ "


End file.
